


i walk upon the river like it's easier than land

by shitshitshit



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/F, M/M, Past Sefikura, just wanted 2 tag in case it's not a fav~, minor aertif, sorry - Freeform, yes its cop AU again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shitshitshit/pseuds/shitshitshit
Summary: “They’re reopening the case.”Cloud stiffens. Genesis doesn’t need to specify, they both know which case. It’s always been that one; the one that trails your shadow on your way to the bus stop, the one that is only spoken of behind closed doors in office buildings that have lost their street numbers, the one that sits on your chest and suffocates every breath you take as you lay down to sleep at night. Now, tomorrow, and for eternity.A story of redemption. One of justice, of hope, and of belonging.
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough/Tifa Lockhart, Sephiroth/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Cloud Strife
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	i walk upon the river like it's easier than land

**Author's Note:**

> i am lazy and this will probably update every 5 months srry
> 
> details on tw: mentions of and occasional detailed descriptions of graphic violence, allusions to prior sexual trauma and torture but no detail/extended scenes. please let me know if you need more info on potential subject matter to protect yourself/know if this is the right content for you

_The smoke from the end of her cigarette snakes its way up to his face and clings to the air around his cheeks, refusing to disperse immediately. Muffled strumming from a guitar bubbles up from the basement._

_“Do you believe in past lives?” he asks, crossing his legs on the couch._

_She shakes her head no._

_“I do.”_

_At this, she cocks her head, raising an eyebrow._

_“I believe in past lives. I think I must’ve been a colander.”_

_Laughter joins cigarette smoke, a tinkling laugh that seems to rise like heat. It’s gone before he knows it and the living room is cold once more. “I’m not too sure that’s how reincarnation works.”_

_He takes a drink from the bottle he’s been passing from hand to hand since she sat down. “It’s because I’m always leaking. My insides are dripping out of me.”_

_“What do you mean?” she asks, now more skeptical than intrigued, fixing him with a look._

_He ignores her expression, maybe even ignores the question. “I feel like I’m missing myself. Like I’m always leaving things behind. I left things in the grocery store this morning. They might’ve been important but I don’t know. I’m always spilling onto my bedroom floor and my kitchen table and, and, and on my steering wheel.” He licks his lips, cheeks blooming with the embarrassment of a persistent childhood stutter._

_She scoffs. “You’re awful weird, you know that?”_

_“Why?”_

_“People don’t leak. Unless you’re taking a piss. Then you’re leaking.” The laugh that felt like a blanket now feels like a blaze and he’s suffocating in the smoke. He knows now is the time to play along, though, so he forces a smile to which she replies with a grin of her own._

_“I’m worried I’m gonna be nothing pretty soon. It’s all gonna fall out and there won’t be anything left,” he continues._

_Another wide, wide smile. She puts what is left of her cigarette into the bottle in his hands, pulling it away from him real slow, setting it on the table, licking her lips._

  
  


\---

Friday evening, 10:26PM

“A’one, two, a’one, two, three, four…” 

It’s dim in his corner of the bar; it always is. That’s the way he likes it, though. Dark enough that he’s almost impossible to recognize from a distance, light enough to read paperwork if he’s slumped over the counter, nose practically pressed to the page, drink in hand. Cloud Strife has been coming here for years now, long enough that the bartender’s got his order memorized. Not that that’d be difficult by any means, he has the hard stare of a man who knows his way around dark liquor. 

Cloud had set out earlier with the expectation that this would be another relatively uneventful evening alone, drinking himself to a comfortable buzz and potentially permanently damaging his eyesight as he strains against the lack of light. Hell, maybe he would’ve even taken someone home, which is always ultimately unsatisfying but not entirely unwelcome if you figure that sex can kill an hour minimum if you count transportation and pleasantries. Not always his first choice but an admittedly simple distraction from the inevitable insomnia that he’s battled for nearly a decade. That was before Genesis had called. . 

Though their communication over the years has dwindled Cloud still considers him a friend. If anything, Genesis’ the closest he has to a best friend anymore. He often regrets how much he’s tried to distance himself, to ignore his phone calls and texts, turn down invite after invite. He regrets it but sometimes even maintaining his only friendship makes him feel a lot like Atlas straining under the weight of the world. 

Luckily Genesis is unrelenting in his pursuit. Despite his tendency towards the dramatic, his persistent encouragement is almost catching. Almost. He’s so aggressive in his insistence that they’re riding an upswing that Cloud doesn’t have the energy to battle his optimism. So be it, it’s an upswing if you can call ‘paperwork at a dive bar as you drink alone’ a high note in one’s life. 

Genesis’s voice during that phone call scared him. Cloud’s eyes dart over to the door any time he detects movement, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He’s getting worked up over nothing. Genesis is just joining him for drinks. Everything’s fine. They’re fine. He’s late and it’s only serving to create a cocktail of paranoia and irritation for Cloud, but they’re fine. For now, Cloud orders two margaritas and feels like an asshole for ordering a margarita in the middle of winter but it’s the only thing Genesis will drink. 

The bartender raises an eyebrow. Not his usual, a sudden anomaly. No words pass between them. 

Cloud is halfway through his own drink, sucking the salt off of a wedge of lime, when Genesis walks in. He waves him over, not quite inspired enough to take the lime out of his mouth until Genesis actually reaches his side of the bar. 

“Hey!” Genesis greets, voice such a stark contrast from the one he’d heard on the phone Cloud actually shakes his head when he’s pulled in for a bone-crushing hug. The band from earlier finished their set a few minutes ago and Cloud watches them pack up their equipment out of the corner of his eye, thankful that they won’t have to shout for the duration of their conversation. 

“How ya been?” 

“I’m alright.” Cloud pushes the drink towards him. “For you”

“Your mouth says ‘alright’ but your face says ‘miserable’. Chin up, buttercup.” Genesis grins over the rim of his glass to which Cloud replies with a roll of his eyes. “Anything new with work?”

“You know there’s nothing new with work.”

“What? You mean internal affairs ain’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

“Shut the fuck up, Genesis,” Cloud says, thumping him in the chest. 

“As you wish,” Genesis laughs, wiping the back of his mouth with a sleeve. 

“You’re being awfully shitty for someone with an umbrella drink.” 

“Does my having an umbrella drink somehow negate the fact that internal affairs is the soul-sucking netherworld where veterans go to die?” 

“Maybe if I murder you I can finally get that promotion and go to prison.” Cloud can’t help the tiny smile that creeps onto his face at the sight of Genesis’s incredulous expression.

The change in atmosphere is quick, almost lightning speed. Cloud can feel it as soon as Genesis puts his drink down next to Cloud’s. “Hey. I really did ask to meet you for a reason, you know.” 

“I’m sure.”

“They’re reopening the case.”

Cloud stiffens. Genesis doesn’t need to specify, they both know which case. It’s always been that one; the one that trails your shadow on your way to the bus stop, the one that is only spoken of behind closed doors in office buildings that have lost their street numbers, the one that sits on your chest and suffocates every breath you take as you lay down to sleep at night. Now, tomorrow, and for eternity. 

“They are,” Cloud says, more in confirmation than question. 

“Chief wants to make an offer.”

“No.”

“Cloud, come on-” 

Cloud interrupts him, “Genesis, tell him I said no. Do you fucking hear me? It’s a no.” He wants to sound sure, to sound powerful, but the quiver in his ‘no’ is a dead giveaway. 

“It’s been eight years,” Genesis says, voice soft. 

“Who cares how fucking long it’s been? I’m not coming back.”

“They’ve got a body.” Genesis fiddles with the corner of the coaster under his drink. 

Cloud snaps his head up to meet Genesis’s gaze. “Whose?” 

“Don’t know yet. I shouldn’t even be telling you this much right now, Cloud, you know that. Not until you’re officially back.”

Cloud closes his eyes, tipping his head back. “Genesis… I deserve to know at least this much, don’t you think?” 

“We need you.” 

“Why? Why in God’s name would you need me, of all people? Are they looking for a repeat of-”

“Please,” Genesis cuts him off, placing a hand on his forearm where a bold thumb rubs calm circles into the skin just below the fold of Cloud’s sleeve.

“Genesis, I can’t come back now. Not now,” Cloud slumps forward again, anxious fingers on his left hand massaging his temple. “I don’t think about it anymore.” 

“Don’t lie to me. I know you.” 

“I can’t say no, can I?” Cloud starts, looking up at Genesis. “That’s why they sent you.”

“Of course you can say no. I just really wantcha to say yes,” Genesis says with a grin. “Don’t ya miss seeing this beautiful face every day?” 

“I’d rather wake up next to the ugliest mug in the world than step foot in that precinct ever again.”

“You already do, Cloud. You have a mirror don’t you?” Genesis giggles girlishly at his own joke, folding and unfolding the tiny umbrella as he swirls his drink. 

Cloud looks up at him, unamused, pursing his lips as he considers Genesis' nonchalance. “Why are you really here? Why you? You’re not even in homicide anymore. Cut this bullshit because I can’t… I don’t need to be reminded anymore than I already am. So if you’re here to remind me, you better have a damn good reason. So give me something I can’t say no to. If you really fuckin’ want me, tell me why I should want it too.” 

Genesis sighs exasperatedly, “Cloud, I thought you’d want to see this through. You feel it, don’t you? You’re like the rest of us who touched it. I can’t sleep, haven’t slept in years, not more than a few hours at a time. My body won’t let me rest. I’m twitching with… with anxiety or guilt or fear or something, god, I don’t know. I know you feel it, I know it’s in you. I can see your face, the feeling of having no control.

“We are being given an opportunity to control it. Or at least to try. Please, please try with me. I want to be able to just... be again, to not have this incredible weight of the unknown hanging over me every second of every day. Please, Cloud.”

Cloud considers him for a moment that stretches on longer than he intended. His second drink is beginning to ooze into his mind, muddying his memory like a thick sludge, rewinding. He’s back again, all those years ago, standing in the doorway staring out at the inky night, thinking how badly he just wants to be swallowed whole, to watch his hand disappear into that humid July night. He wanted to run so badly then, just like he wants to run now. To run and keep running, shedding each and every part of himself on the cracked pavement, losing track of the boundary between man and eternity in the hot dark, returning himself to God among the fireflies and reeds on the riverbank.

He blinks slowly, eyes refocusing on Genesis’s furrowed brows. _Maybe_ , he thinks, _maybe_. He feels himself become hopeful for a second. It’s one second too long before he opens his big mouth. “Okay.”

\---

Monday morning, 7:14AM.

Cloud presses his temple against the glass pane of the subway car, staring out at the weakly illuminated cityscape as the train crosses the bridge. His city, this city that had once been some version of utopia for his six year old self. He remembers sharpening crayon after crayon before he set to work on his masterful, multi-page creations, all depicting his future life in the city as a hero. He smiles to himself as he recalls the generous physique he’d predicted for himself: flashy spiked hair, red lightning shooting from his fingertips, toned from head to toe donning a lycra suit (what self-respecting superhero would be caught dead without one). 

He supposes he wouldn’t have disappointed his past self all that much. His hair still has a mind of its own. Someone once told him that he looked best just slightly roughed up and the sound bite plays every time he briefly considers tweaking his style. Most compliments wash over and away from you quick as a jet stream but some seem to stay, sinking deeper and deeper until the words become as familiar as your own, a foreign mantra allowing you to see yourself from outside-in. His body is more the result of anxious exercise than anything else, though he’d easily swap his bulk for fingers that shoot lightning anyday.

He’s on his way to the precinct, regret rising in his throat. He’s been chastising himself repeatedly for the past seventy two hours, replaying his idiotic, drunken ‘okay’ over and over again, rewinding the soundbite in the hopes that it might just magically change. He knows it won’t and he takes one last deep, measured breath as the automated voice signals his stop. 

Cloud’s muscle memory seems to kick in before his brain does, pulling his body to stand and exit the train, climb the massive staircase up to the street, and start off on the four block trek he’d taken nearly every day for seven years. It’s been so long since he’s last seen this part of the city, but it feels like he’s just unearthed a time capsule buried deep within himself. There are some small changes to the scenery, a few shops have closed and been replaced, but it’s mostly all still here. Every crack in the sidewalk matches his memory and, with the sun at his back, he follows his own shadow down the street, stride for stride with his former self. 

His favorite coffee joint on the corner still stands, its dilapidated sign completely untouched. He wonders if the owner would still remember his order, his face, if the same locals would still be inside, sipping their drinks, fingers flitting over a keyboard or thumbing through the pages of a book. Could Cloud walk through that door and see _him_ at the corner table, the one with the best view of the street? Would he still have a sketchbook opened to a messy swirl of faceless doodles, studying the bodies of passersby? Would he still offer Cloud the rest of his nearly untouched raspberry scone, almost like he’d ordered it just for him?

Cloud’s breath catches in his throat at the thought. He knows he can’t dwell on these memories for too long, especially not this one. The precinct is already pushing it but the rest of their lives have to remain untouched, to stay safe in his mind, locked away and booby trapped like some ancient tomb of a long-forgotten pharaoh. It makes sense to think of it this way, his happiest memories mummified and stored for safe-keeping. 

He realizes he has stopped walking and wonders how long he’s just been standing in the middle of the sidewalk. People shuffle around him, completely unconcerned with his interruption of the foot traffic. Cloud realizes he’d missed this, this feeling of disappearing, joining all of these other drops in this giant bucket of a city. 

His phone rings. Genesis’s voice is loud in his ear, “Cloud, where are you? I’ve been waiting for like ten minutes. You’re never late, what’s the deal? You get cold feet already?”

Cloud sighs, hoping it’s loud enough to reach Genesis. “Yeah, I got cold feet alright, I’ve been walkin’ around on these blocks of ice all morning so it’s takin’ me a bit longer to get there. Calm down over there, would ya?”

“Not funny. How much longer will you be?” 

“Chill out, Rhapsodos. I’ll be there soon, okay? Don’t get your fuckin’ panties in a twist.” Cloud grins because he knows Genesis is pouting on the other line. He can be so sensitive sometimes and Cloud takes full advantage of it. 

“Fine. I’ll be here. I got you coffee but now I’m regretting it and I hope it gets as cold as your heart. Bye,” Genesis takes a breath, “be safe.” 

The end-call tone blares in Cloud’s ear. He smiles. 

\---

Monday morning; 7:52AM. 

Cloud sips the cold coffee, wrinkling his nose at the excessive sweetness. Genesis never could get a damn coffee order correct. They sit in an empty conference room, a spread of various fruit plates and bagels presented upon the table. Beside him, Genesis munches on some soggy honeydew distractedly. He remembers how these pathetic grocery store platters had always been present in their meetings, as if it would somehow detract from the fact that every time they found themselves in this room it was to discuss the end of someone’s life. All the fancy cheeses and strawberry skewers in the world couldn’t provide enough of a diversion when you were up against a slideshow of various angles of a corpse. 

“So, you were harassing me to get here as soon as possible and we’ve been sitting here for a half hour. What gives?” Cloud turns to Genesis, swiping a piece of his fruit. 

“I don’t have control over anyone else, Cloud,” he replies, swatting away Cloud’s hand as he goes for another piece. “Get your own, you leech.” 

Grumbling, Cloud hooks one finger under the serving plate and scoots it closer. “He better show soon, I’m getting peckish and these bodega strawberries are not gonna do it.” 

Just as Cloud is popping another one into his mouth, the door swings open and a broad-shouldered man steps through. Another familiar face. “Cloud,” he says with a smile far too warm considering the circumstances, “good to see you again.” 

“Angeal,” Cloud says, hacking once before clearing his throat. He’d practically inhaled the strawberry when the door opened and he can feel Genesis patting him gently on the back. How motherly. “G-good to see you too.”

Angeal takes a seat opposite from them. “We can catch up later. I’m waiting on one more person and I do apologize for the hangup. It’s been a long morning, lots to discuss, lots to assess. Ya know how it is,” he finishes with a wink before ironing out his expression. As the smile disappears, Cloud can see the years on his face, all the lines and signs of weathering, the grays peeking out from his hairline. 

But his voice, his voice is that same calm, even, comforting Angeal and for that Cloud is eternally grateful. He feels his heart climb back down his throat at the sound of it. 

“Can’t say I’m glad to be here,” Cloud says after a moment.

Angeal pauses, stops shuffling through the stack of papers in front of him and looks up. “Well, I’m still glad to have you here.” 

Cloud swallows audibly, embarrassed. He can feel Genesis grinning from beside him, aware of his flushing face. He’s spared when a knock at the door draws everyone’s attention. 

The legs of Angeal’s chair scrape loudly against the tile floor as he rises to greet whoever this last individual is. Cloud’s imagination runs wild with all of the possibilities. He can hardly remember most of the former detectives, and he’s definitely not been keeping up with any of their whereabouts. The old heads could have already moved on to other departments or, hell, maybe even other careers. Reno? Nah, couldn’t be, he was always too much of a liability. Then again, anyone could be a liability under the right circumstances and Cloud knew that better than anyone. 

“Zack. Glad you could make it. Looks like your last meeting just couldn’t let ya go,” Angeal greets warmly. 

“You know those boys, when there’s ten people in the room and everyone wants the talking stick, you just gotta ride out the storm,” a sweet voice replies, almost boyish in tone. The owner of the voice steps through the doorway and into full view as Cloud squints, waiting for some sort of recognition that never comes. This is a new face, he’s sure of it. 

His hair is jet black and long, splaying down between his shoulder blades, swept away from his face, almost dreamily. His eyes are a deep, piercing blue, similar to Cloud’s, and they are framed by thick, dark lashes. There is a small scar just to the side of his mouth, barely visible from where Cloud is sitting. When the man sweeps his gaze across the room and their eyes meet, Cloud feels suddenly uncomfortable, naked almost. There’s a sort of uncanny sameness passing between them in that one second that leaves Cloud feeling oddly empty when Zack breaks their eye contact. 

“So,” Angeal starts, “introductions are going to be short for the sake of time. No fun facts or any of that shit. Zack,” he gestures to Genesis, “this is Genesis Rhapsodos, still with the force, currently in narcotics. Original member of the investigative team.”

He waves his hand in Cloud’s direction. “Cloud Strife, currently with internal affairs across the river. Lead on the original investigation.” 

Cloud notes that Angeal is being selective with the information he’s choosing to divulge to this newbie, and in doing so he’s sending a message to both Genesis and himself. Zack is not quite within the circle of trust. Angeal referring to him as the ‘lead’ is a very interesting oversimplification of ‘thrust into the spotlight of a high-profile case following a series of completely unpredictable complications’. He supposes they’ll get to that part in due time.

“And this,” Angeal clears his throat, “is Zack Fair. Transferred here from out of state, has worked quite a few cases of similar magnitude. Just thought it’d be nice to have some fresh eyes rubbing shoulders with you old ladies.” 

Cloud knows there’s a reason Zack is here, and it’s more likely that it’s unrelated to his casework and expertise, but he’s probably not going to be privy to that information. Best he can do is shut up and learn to work with him, though that may not be so difficult. 

“Nice to meetcha,” Zack grins from across the conference table, wiggling his fingers.

“Looking forward to working with you,” Genesis answers quickly, nudging Cloud until he grunts in agreement, before returning a megawatt smile of his own. Zack’s eyes dart over to Cloud’s one more time before settling on Angeal in anticipation.

“Now that everyone’s all caught up on the new faces, we can get into it,” Angeal sighs and looks up. “We think he’s active again.”

\---

_The dim light from the bulb of the overhead lamp blinks in and out of existence weakly, leaving the elevator in darkness most of the ride. She shuffles nervously from one foot to the other, worrying her bottom lip with her two front teeth, keeping her eyes on the angry red circle around the number ‘17’ as the creaking elevator climbs the shaft slowly. This is not a day she has been looking forward to and as thirteen becomes fourteen and then fifteen, her heart creeps into her throat. The doubt settles in her stomach like an anchor, gluing her feet to the shabby elevator carpet as the doors open to a nondescript hallway. She hesitates, still unsure that this is the only way. Her thoughts come back to the conversation from last week, how she’d assured him of her conviction, of her loyalty, to both him and to the future._

_The elevator doors begin to close in front of her, but her foot juts out to trip the sensor and then she is in the hallway, alone and shaking like a leaf. She gulps audibly and it seems to echo against the paper thin drywall. She shouldn’t be here much longer, can’t be. Her footsteps thunder in the hallway as she walks in what feels like slow motion to the door. #21._

_Her heart pounds in her ears, blood warming her skin as it runs wild through her veins. She feels a growing sense of becoming unhinged, like the woven strands of her existence are tangible and all of this feels like picking at a loose end, rolling the threads between her fingers, so fragile and easy to pull apart and make a mess of._

_Her heartbeat calms, her eyes close and open slowly. The door is already open, as he told her it would be. The doorknob turns easily and the door opens in silence, no squeaky hinges. Again, he made good on his promise. Her trust in him grows with each fulfillment. The hallway beyond the door is dark and a foul smell immediately suffocates her, a scent so pungent and opaque that the air itself seems visually tinged with a smog-like green-gray. The smell reminds her that tonight will be most challenging, but she is oh so eager to prove her indispensable contribution._


End file.
